


The Eye of the Falcon

by Shadeoflight



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Ancient Technology, Arguments, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Legends, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction, Soulmates, Star Ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadeoflight/pseuds/Shadeoflight
Summary: The galaxy has been at war for more than twenty-five years.Now the war shall come to an end through the wedding of Prince Kylian of Tyrona and King Dracos I. of Nydos, the slaughterer of the royal Mendala family.Captain Mitchell Summer is a space trader and part time bootlegger, and he has only one chance to escape the mines onLornia Fourwhen he's caught right in the act and with five boxes of Lornian spirit in the cargo hold of his cargo shipFalcon. He has to bring Prince Kylian to his wedding onKynthia Primeon board his ship and make sure that the defiant and unwilling prince will reach his destination alive and in one piece.Too bad that Kylian of Tyrona is not only defiant, stubborn and really getting on Mitchell's nerves quickly, but also really handsome and desirable...
Relationships: Mitchell Summer/Kylian of Tyrona, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 24
Kudos: 12





	1. Not the usual kind of deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aladyinbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aladyinbooks/gifts).



> my dear aladyinbooks,
> 
> I'd actually thought that I wouldn't write and post anything in the foreseeable future when I deleted my first account last year after years of posting here on AO3, but writing and reading has always been my valve and my way of dealing with real life and all the good and bad things that come with it, and your absolutely amazing novel _Icarus, Burning_ has helped me so much through the first terrible three months of this year. Your Jason and Samiel have given me my joy and love for writing back and reminded me of how much I love well written science fiction, and your story inspired me to think about a little sci fi story of my own. I really want to give you something back to show you how much I love the world you've created, so this is for you. I really hope that you will like Mitchell and Kylian's adventure! <33
> 
> Dear readers,  
> I hope that you will like this little space adventure too, please let me know if you did. Kind feedback is the biggest motivation to write and post more. <33 And if there's anything you want to know about the world I'm trying to build here, please tell me! I'll add more information and explanations along the way.  
> This story is plotted out and I'm aiming for ten chapters, but that might perhaps change, depending on what Mitchell and his defiant prince want me to write and how the chapters will develop.
> 
> I'm not a native speaker, I apologize for any mistakes and my still rather clumsy English.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Mitchell Summer is getting into trouble when he's trying to smuggle Lornian booze, and the only way to escape his punishment of two years in the mines on _Lornia Four_ is to agree to a very special deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much action in this first chapter, but some important information about the world where this story takes place in, introducing Mitchell Summer as one of the two main characters here.

_Prologue:_

_“Ah, Varo, I'm glad to see you healthy and well prepared for my visit. It's always a pleasure to do good business with you!” Captain Mitchell Summer pushed the door to the small shop close with his left foot when he entered the gloomy showroom, which had actually more the size of a wardrobe and didn't really deserve to be called a proper shop. But Mitchell had learned not to judge people or places by their outer appearances a long time ago, and Varo always provided him with what he wanted or needed, no matter how rare or hard to get the goods or things his various clients desired seemed to be._

_Mitchell had become one of Varo's best dealers over the past ten years, and Varo was reliable and had never tried to betray him so far when it came to the previously fixed prizes of the exclusive and sometimes even forbidden goods Mitchell brought him in exchange for money or other rare and expensive commodities. The tall captain with the thick shock of golden-brown hair and those astonishing light blue eyes knew that a lot of people would call him a bootlegger if they knew what he was doing, but he preferred to think of himself as a space trader, and his good looks and charming smile had saved him from being caught and sentenced more than just once. His handsome but still somewhat boyish features normally served to fool most of the customs officers Mitchell had dealt with so far rather well, and one innocent look out of his eyes always got him what Mitchell wanted without too much arguing from those who were harder to fool._  
 _Their color was of the same clear crystal-blue his former home_ Aronia Prime _was known for, and Mitchell had learned to charm men and women to the same extent and used his looks and his skills to reach his goals without too much of a bad conscience. Times were hard and required some ruthlessness if you wanted to survive, and Mitchell intended to not only survive, but to live his life in the best way possible._

 _Varo, the owner of the unobtrusive shop that was nestled in between the leaning old houses of_ Sontorra Prime's _capital Sontia, was probably one of the few people who were able to see right through Mitchell's mask of feigned ignorant innocence, but if he did, then he didn't let it show._

_Varo was even taller than Mitchell, and he now leaned against the heavy counter that parted the small showroom into two halves as he regarded the younger man with friendly patience but sharp and attentive dark eyes. His chin-long white hair didn't really match with his unlined and surprisingly young features, and Mitchell still needed to give up his useless attempts to guess Varo's true age. “It's always good to see that you manage to keep your head on your shoulders rather well, Summer,” Varo returned the greeting with a smile ghosting around his thin lips. “Did you get the impulse inductors I ordered? You're late, I must admit that I was already thinking about asking Vendry to get them for me.”_

_“Yeah, sorry for the tardiness, I had to take a rather long detour to get here. The Dorrandians have increased their attacks against King Draco's cargo ships, and I didn't want to get into trouble and be mistaken for one of them. But the wait was worth it, I promise you. Vendry would never get you inductors of the same quality.” Mitchell shrugged his shoulders and gifted Varo with a crooked smile. He opened the bag he'd been carrying over his shoulder to let the shop owner take a look inside. “Four impulse inductors – just like you'd ordered. And to make up for the delay I got something else for you too, something you can sell for a tidy sum of money, I'm sure.”_

_Varo took the bag out of Mitchell's hands to peek into it and regard its contents for a moment. He pursed his lips and raised a silver eyebrow, gazing at the young captain with thoughtful eyes. “Tylion? Do I want to know where and how you got it, Summer?”_

_Mitchell shrugged again, giving his long-term trade partner one of his most innocent looks. “Do you need to know that for selling it? I think not. Your clients are not of the kind who are eager to ask too many questions, are they? All you need to know is that it's of the highest quality available and that one of your other dealers will certainly pay a lot of money for such a big amount of that rare mineral.”_

_“Hmm. Even though you're probably right with that, but I fear that I cannot pay you for the Tylion at the moment, Summer. I'll need to transfer the high sum you'll certainly require for it from my account, and that will take quite a while considering the information I've gotten over the past couple of days. Times are uncertain as you know, and even the Bank of Sontia is finally beginning to ask questions when some of their clients are trying to move a large amount of money without any bankable collateral. I was able to prepare the transfer of the sum we agreed on for the impulse inductors, but I can't prepare another big transfer this month.”_

_Mitchell tried not to let his disappointment show. He couldn't risk the attention such a bank transfer would arouse, and he'd actually hoped that Varo would offer him something valuable for the Tylion in return. “You don't necessarily need to pay me with money. Do you have anything else at hand that could be interesting for me?” he asked, giving his voice a carefree tone._

_Varo probably noticed his disappointment, but he didn't commented on it and just mused about his possibilities to yet get the precious mineral for a moment, observing Mitchell with a thoughtfully tilted head. “There is indeed something that might be interesting and useful for you. Just let me get it, it's too precious to keep it here in the drawer of the counter.”_

_Mitchell watched the tall Sontorrian disappear behind the thick dark-blue curtain that separated the showroom from the tiny office where Varo kept the contracts with his trading partners and did the necessary paper work that came with his business, suppressing a yawn as he let his eyes wander over the tall shelves that were attached to the walls of the shop. There was nothing you couldn't get in Varo's shop, from special tiny screws up to the large impulse inductors Mitchell had gotten for him. Varo was the one who would be able to find a certain old book for you everyone said that it didn't exist any longer, and if you wanted to impress your lover with jewelry nobody else in the galaxy owned, then you went to Varo to buy them a beautiful ring with the biggest gemstone imaginable for a rather cheap prize._

_The young captain was fairly sure that one could even get weapons and drugs of all sorts if Varo trusted them enough to provide them with these things without having to fear that his clients or trading partners would betray him and give him away to the authorities. Mitchell was sailing close to the wind himself more often than he cared to admit, but he'd never dealt with hard drugs or weapons until now, and he didn't intend to change that in the foreseeable future either._

_The sound of Varo's light footsteps coming back into the small salesroom roused him from his thoughts, and Mitchell turned his head just in time to see Varo circling the counter and offering something to him on his upturned flat palm. Mitchell gazed down curiously, and his breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell onto the two shimmering golden bracelets Varo was showing him._

_They were beautiful, two of the most beautiful things Mitchell had ever seen in his whole life, and he'd seen a lot of beautiful things since he'd started his career as a space trader. The armlets were made of pure gold as far as Mitchell could see, shaped like a hawk with spread wings, those elegant raptors Mitchell's ship was named after. The beaks of the two hawks were adorned with tiny red rubies, and their eyes were two rather big blue gemstones, probably lapis lazuli or aquamarines. Their color matched perfectly with the color of Mitchell's eyes, and the young captain felt a strange wave surge through him when he regarded the bracelets more closely. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of his dry throat, and he cleared his throat and tried it again._

_“They are beautiful, really. They would actually be worthy a real king, far too precious for a simple space trader like I actually am,” he said, and a strange emotion flickered over Varo's face at his statement. It was just a brief display of something that was gone before Mitchell could detect it, and his attention was drawn back to the armlets again before he could think about Varo's reaction any further. “They are really, really beautiful, and they're apparently pretty old. But I don't think that I'll be able to sell them. My trading partners will definitely ask questions in this special case, and they won't take the risk if I can't tell them how I got these armlets.”_

_Varo shook his head with a smile. “You are right that these bangles are very old. Plus, they are not just jewelries, and I didn't offer them to you to sell them to anybody else. I want you to keep them and take good care of them, my friend.” He stretched his hand out to Mitchell, and the young captain slowly reached out to touch the golden bracelets and stroke softly over the blue eyes of the two identical hawks. The gemstones were masterfully cut, but they didn't shine or sparkle like jewels would usually sparkle, which was strange and confused him. But they were warm under Mitchell's fingers when he touched them, just as though they were responding to him in a mysterious and weird way, and Mitchell couldn't deny any longer how much he wanted to possess these bracelets – more than he'd ever wanted anything else in a rather long time. “What's so special about them?” he asked, trying not to sound too greedy, and Varo's smile deepened._

_“They're tying a person to you you don't want to lose. If they're wearing one of the bracelets while you're wearing the other one, then they won't be able to run away from you without getting sick and falling into a deep coma until you'll wake them up again.”_

_Mitchell stared at him with big eyes for a few seconds. “Uuh, wow. That's... But what about me? That would mean that I'd get sick and fall unconscious as well then, wouldn't it?” he wanted to know, and Varo shook his head. “You'll be in control of the bond, don't worry. But you'll have to be careful with these armlets, Captain Summer. Careful with whom you'll tie yourself to. Don't use them without careful consideration, they're truly powerful devices. The one I got them from assured me that they have once belonged to the royal treasure of the Mendala dynasty.”_

_Mitchell didn't really care about the former owners of these beautiful treasures, all he cared about was that they would soon be his. A smile formed on Mitchell's lips, and he took the bracelets and closed his fingers around them. “I think we have a deal, Varo. Maybe now would be a good time to enjoy the Lornian spirit you recommended to me the last time we fixed such a good deal, don't you think so?”_

_Varo returned the smile, beckoning him to join him in his office. “Our satisfying deal indeed requires the best spirit to fix it with, Captain Summer. Maybe I can even offer you another deal that will get you the money you hoped to make with the Tylion. Lornian booze will earn you a lot of money if you know the right people, and I think I can help you with that...” he said, and Mitchell followed him with a huge grin plastered all over his face, thinking that today must be his lucky day, a day he would surely remember for a very long time..._

*~*~*

Captain Mitchell Summer knew that he was fucked up this time.

Like in really fucked up.

His boyish features and his innocent looks wouldn't buy him out of this tiny prison cell this time, and the knowledge that his crew was as fucked up as he was made everything even worse for him.

Mitchell's crew was his family, the only family he'd ever known since his parents had died in that terrible accident more than twelve years ago. They were his friends and the few people he actually trusted with his life, and his stupidity was the reason why they were trapped on board the _Falcon_ now. It was just a matter of time until Lyra, Darian and Oleg would end up in a prison cell similar to the one where he was currently pacing up and down as well, and Mitchell couldn't blame anybody else other than himself for that.

He really shouldn't have trusted this ugly minion Tarron that smuggling Lornian booze in grand style right from the beginning was the best and safest way to earn the money he needed to pay the last installment for his beloved _Falcon_. Mitchell knew that the name he'd chosen for his ship was actually a pretty boastful choice of name, but it reminded him of happier times when he'd been hiking in the green mountains of _Aronia Prime_ with his parents, craning his head back until his neck had hurt to watch those gracious and beautiful birds of prey _Aronia Prime_ was known for fly their circles high up in the blue sky.

His small cargo ship wasn't really worthy to have such a proud name, it was small and old and rather slow – at least when compared to the modern Dorrandian war ships - but it was his ship since he'd won it from another bootlegger during a space-poker game on his eighteenth birthday, and Mitchell loved the _Falcon_ with all of his heart. She was his home, the first real home since he'd lost his parents, and he was still furious that Tigor Makasz had gulled him the last time Mitchell had traded with him and forced him to mortgage his beloved _Falcon_ with a obscenely high sum.

The impulse inductors he'd sold to Varo had earned him enough money to satisfy most of the mortgage at once except for the last installment of five hundred solis, and Tigor had been so 'gracious' to grant him one more month before he would take his ship – his home – away from him.

Mitchell had had countless sleepless nights while he'd desperately mused about a way to get five hundred solis before the month was over, and his new contact man on _Lornia One_ , Tarron, had suggested that he should smuggle five large boxes with the famous – very rare and very expensive – Lornian booze to _Sontorra Prime_. One box had a capacity of twenty bottles, and Mitchell could sell it for two hundred and fifty solis if he was clever enough - as _Sontorra Prime_ was a paradise for gamblers of all sorts and Lornian spirit was the favorite beverage of these gamblers. Five boxes would earn Mitchell much more than the five hundred solis he needed to pay his debts, and Tarron's proposal had sounded pretty good and easy to carry out. Tarron was a relative of the dealer Varo had actually recommended to him, and Mitchell had been so dense to trust him like he'd trusted Varo until today.

A grave mistake as he had come to realize pretty soon because this little piece of shit had betrayed him and rat him out to the customs officers - who were all too happy to imprison Mitchell and leave him in the hands of the authorities of _Lornia One_.

Smuggling their precious and almost sacred liquor was a serious crime because there were only three monasteries left where the monks still knew the secret ancient recipe for that special spirit, and who had the knowledge how to distill alcohol of this high quality. An old legend said that the recipe had been a gift from the people of the _First Race_ themselves because the Lornian monks had been their most faithful worshipers so many centuries ago, and the monks guarded the secret jealously like gold and refused to write it down. It was passed from the abbot to the prior when the abbot felt that his time on earth was coming to an end, and only the abbot and his chosen prior knew the right mixture of the ingredients of the spirit.

Mitchell knew that it was his own fault as he'd wanted to believe Torran that everything would go smoothly, throwing caution and Lyra and Darian's warnings to the wind. And now he was trapped in this damn cell, pacing up and down like a caged tigra and waiting for the inspector to question him. Maybe he could still convince him that everything had been a terrible mistake and that he hadn't known about the boxes in his cargo hold...

The sound of heavy footsteps and several loud voices made him stop dead on his tracks, and Mitchell hurried to sit down on the small cot that was attached to the rough stone wall opposite the thick iron bars which built the entrance to his cell, trying to appear as untroubled and self-confident as he actually wasn't at all.

The newcomer came to a halt before his cell, their features and figure hidden under a long black cloak with a large hood that covered their face down to their nose. Two guards flanked the Lornian, glaring daggers at Mitchell as though he'd been caught with a knife in his hand to kill King Paros III. and claim his throne for himself. Mitchell was pretty sure that most people didn't care much about the king, who was too sick to really care about his subjects and far too weak to defeat his worst enemy, the tyrant Dracos who'd murdered the Kynthian king and his wife twenty-seven years ago.

The Mendala dynasty had ruled over _Kynthia Prime_ and its allied planets for centuries, just like the Tyrona family was still ruling over _Lornia One_ and the alliance of worlds that belonged to this sector of the galaxy. Both royal families insisted on being direct descendants of the _First Race_ , the race all human races derived from, and they had respected each other and granted peace and a strong balance between the two most powerful alliances in the galaxy for centuries. They'd even formed strong bonds through marriages, and Mitchell had heard stories that these couples had been true soulmates and possessed matching second genders like the mysterious ancestors of the _First Race_ had all had a second gender as well. Mitchell didn't know anyone with a second gender, whether they were human or belonging to other species, and the scientists said that possible second genders were dormant now and could only be awoken again when two _Animatii_ found each other, two halves of one soul.

The traitor who was sitting on the throne of _Kynthia Prime_ now had belonged to King Dynios' personal guards, and he'd started a mutiny and slaughtered each member of the royal Mendala family. He'd crowned himself as Dracos I. of Nydos and was ruling over _Kynthia Prime_ and its alliance with an iron hand and cruelty for more than twenty-five years now. He'd started a war against the Lornian alliance when he'd been sure that no one would try to rebel against him, and there was not one inhabited planet in the whole galaxy which didn't suffer badly because of the terrible war. There were rumors circulating that the son of King Dynios and his wife Calliste had survived the massacre, but Mitchell didn't believe that this was true. The heir of Mendala had been a baby when his parents had been murdered, not even a year old, and there was no way that Dracos had shown mercy and let the only one of the Mendalas live who could challenge his sovereignty when he was old enough to do so.

Dracos had won the upper hand over the past three years, winning most of the space battles against the Lornian ships, and new rumors were spreading out pretty fast that King Paros would agree to Dracos' conditions for a peace treaty soon, forced by his ministers and council to hoist the flag of truce and admit defeat.

The Dorrandian rebels were the only ones who still dared to fight against Dracos' fleet, because their war ships had better weapons and stronger shields. It would be harder for them to fight against an alliance between _Kynthia Prime_ and _Lornia One_ , because the Lornian and Kynthian ships would outnumber them considerably, but they hadn't given up their attacks until today and still fought with all their might against Dracos' tyranny.

The political situation was difficult in the entire galaxy in general and on _Lornia One_ in special these days, and Mitchell's smuggling would definitely lead to a severe punishment, that much was sure.

“Leave us alone,” the Lornian now said – revealing his gender by his low and male voice - his tone quiet and calm but leaving no doubts that his words were an order, and that he expected the guards to obey his order without question. The two young men hesitated for the blink of an eye, obviously not happy to leave their superior alone with the bootlegger who'd dared to commit such a severe crime. Mitchell had been examined with greatest care before they'd thrown him into the cell, and he didn't have a weapon he could have attacked his interrogator with any longer as they'd taken his dagger and his pistol from him. No weapon except for his two hands, that is, but Mitchell wasn't stupid and foolhardy enough to attack the Lornian with his bare hands. His crew was still trapped on board the Falcon, and he wouldn't fuck things up more than he already had with being caught with five boxes of Lornian booze in his cargo bay.

“He won't try anything. I want to talk to him alone, so leave us!”

“Yes, sir.” The two guards turned around and made their way to the iron door that led to the corridor and the stairs outside the wing of cells, and which resisted even heavy fire with the newest evaporator pistols.

The cloaked Lornian waited until the door fell shut with a thumping sound before he straightened his shoulders and opened the cloak to push both halves over his shoulders. Mitchell jumped back to his feet with a gasp he couldn't suppress when he saw who was now slowly pulling the hood from his head to reveal his identity and gaze through the bars to regard him thoughtfully and with something akin to amused curiosity.

The young captain was vaguely aware that he was gaping at the Lornian with his mouth hanging open, but he really hadn't expected his attempt to smuggle five boxes with admittedly rather expensive spirit to be such a severe crime that the most powerful man living on _Lornia One_ would bother to question him personally. Mitchell wasn't a Lornian, and he came to _Lornia One_ only every other month or so for the things he traded, but even he knew the face of the Lornian prime minister Lynus Tarant, the man who actually ruled over the Lornians instead of the king.

“I can see that you know who I am,” Tarant remarked casually when he noticed the astonishment on Mitchell's face, and the young captain stalked closer to the bars to grab them with both hands because he really needed something to hold on to. His knees felt like jelly all of a sudden, and a brief smile tugged at the corners of Tarant's mouth. “You should have thought of the consequences before you tried to steal our precious liquor, Captain Summer.”

Mitchell shrugged his shoulders and tried a crooked smile of his own. “You should feel flattered that Lornian booze is desired on so many planets in this galaxy, Prime Minister. You'd benefit from such a good trade,” he retorted, and the older man quirked his left eyebrow at him. “I see. So you are actually a benefactor who wanted to share his profit with the Lornian authorities, Captain? How kind and gracious of you.”

Mitchell had the decency to blush slightly, and Tarant's smile deepened. “I didn't think so. Smuggling is a severe crime on _Lornia One_ , Captain Summer. Trying to smuggle our liquor is an even severer crime. Two years in our mines on _Lornia Four_ at least. For you and your crew.”

Mitchell swallowed, his knuckles turning white when he gripped the bars tighter. “My crew has nothing to do with that. They didn't know about the boxes and my intention to smuggle your spirit. Please leave them out of this,” he croaked out, but Tarant slowly shook his head with pursed lips.

“In for a penny, in for a pound!” the Lornian minister stated unfazed, and Mitchell opened his mouth to beg for his crew, but he snapped it shut again because Lynus Tarant raised a hand to silence him. “There is one way for you to save your neck and escape your punishment, Captain Summer,” he drawled, and Mitchell swallowed again and drew in a deep breath. “And what would I have to do for you to be gracious enough and not convict me and my crew?”

Tarant cocked his head to the side. “I've heard rumors about the _Falcon_ , Captain Summer. Rumors that your cargo ship has gotten some useful modifications that increase its... efficiency.”

Mitchell narrowed his eyes, and he let go of the bars and leaned against the wall next to the door. “The rumors you've heard might be true. That would depend on what you'd need me and my ship for. You won't get her without me. The _Falcon_ is my ship, it's me and her or none of us at all.”

“Do I have to remind you of the mines, Captain Summer? You're not in the position to argue and demand any conditions.”

“Oh, I haven't forgotten about the mines, Prime Minister. But the modifications you mentioned can only be used by me and my crew. No other pilot will get access to them.” Mitchell lifted his chin up defiantly, determined to hold his ground.

“It's a good thing that I need both of you – you and your ship together with your crew then, isn't it?” Tarant smiled, and Mitchell exhaled the breath he'd been holding without noticing it. “And what do you need me and my _Falcon_ for, Prime Minister?” he finally dared to ask, now that he didn't have to worry about the mines on _Lornia Four_ too much any longer.

Tarant remained silent for a moment, turning his head to look around as if he wanted to make sure that no one was listening to them. “You're the captain of a cargo ship, and I want you to convey a very special and delicate cargo, and to deliver this cargo safely and punctually to... 'its' target location.”

“A special and delicate cargo? More special and delicate than your precious booze?” Mitchell asked, and he had to admit that he was curious now. Tarant's mouth twitched, and the calm mask slipped from his face for a split second. “Much more special and delicate,” he said, and his voice had a strange undertone all of a sudden.

“I see.” Mitchell said, torn between his curiosity and rising mistrust, and Tarant sighed, looking ten years older. “I don't think that you do, Captain Summer. The cargo I want you to transport with the Falcon is...” the Lornian minister took another careful look around before he dropped his voice and continued to speak, “... the royal heir.”

“The royal heir?!” Mitchell was gaping again. “You mean Prince Kylian of Tyrona?”

The Prime Minister looked as if he was in pain, and Mitchell thought that this had to be a nightmare he would hopefully wake up from any time soon. He furtively pinched himself, and the sharp pain shooting through his forearm assured him that he was wide awake and unfortunately not dreaming at all.

“Exactly.” Lynus Tarant didn't look as if he was joking. “Prince Kylian is engaged to King Dracos I., and their wedding will take place on _Kynthia Prime_ in a couple of weeks.”

That was indeed an unexpected bombshell the Prime Minister had just dropped, and Mitchell found himself gaping at the Lornian minister. “But why the hell do you want him to travel with the _Falcon_ , Prime Minister? Why don't you use your flagship for that? It would be much more appropriate for the prince to reach _Kynthia Prime_ on board your proud Lornian flagship, right?”

“I have my reasons for this decision, believe me. Our flagship will indeed fly to _Kynthia Prime_ , and Prince Kylian will be on board – not the prince himself, but his doppelganger, that is. The real prince will travel there incognito on board your _Falcon_ , and you'll better make sure that the royal heir will reach his destination alive and healthy.”

“I fear that I can't promise anything. I'm not used to transporting human passengers, and surely not arrogant and spoiled princes. This is really a bad idea, and I'm truly sorry, Prime Minister, but I have to decline your 'kind' offer.”

Lynus Tarant's grin could only be described as wolfish. “It's either that or the mines on _Lornia Four_ , Captain Summer. You have five hours to think about my offer before the guards will come to get you and bring you and your crew to the mines. Think carefully, because I won't offer you a second chance to change your mind if you'll refuse my proposal.”

With these words the Lornian turned around and opened the iron door, leaving Mitchell alone with his racing thoughts.


	2. Not the usual kind of prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell agrees to the deal the Lornian Prime Minister Lynus Tarant has offered to him, and after getting his freedom back, he has to face his angry crew and tell them that they'll have to welcome a spoiled and whiny prince on board the _Falcon_ soon.  
> At the same time Lynus Tarant visits the royal heir Prince Kylian of Tyrona in his rooms to inform him about his imminent departure on board a small cargo ship...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear aladyinbooks,  
> I'm so happy that you liked the first chapter of your story, I hope that you'll like the second chapter just as much! <33
> 
> Dear readers,  
> I hope you'll like the new chapter too, Prince Kylian will make a first appearance here. Feedback would be lovely and wonderful, so please let me know what you're thinking! :-)

Mitchell was pacing again.

Back and forth in his tiny cell, until his head was spinning from the dizziness his pacing caused. He knew that he didn't have much of a choice, and that he would agree to Lynus Tarant's suggestion in the end if he didn't want his crew to end up in the mines of _Lornia Four_ together with him.

But Mitchell couldn't push the gnawing feeling aside that there was more behind Tarant's proposal, that it was more some kind of a dubious trap than a real offer to spare him his punishment. He couldn't quite tell what it was that made him feel this way, but there had been something in the Prime Minister's voice and his eyes when he'd made his unexpected offer – just as though he'd been planning this for a rather long time and even before they'd met. Which couldn't be as Lynus Tarant couldn't have known about his rather impromptu decision to smuggle five boxes of Lornian booze at all, and Mitchell was damn sure that he and the Lornian Prime Minister had never encountered each other before this day.

He started another round of pacing, ignoring how his head was protesting and his vision was blurring, too nervous and restless to sit down on the small cot and get some rest. He'd lost all tracks of time as the guards had taken his watch away as well, and he flinched when the creaking of the heavy iron door announced another visitor, and he realized that the five hours he'd been given must already be over. Tarant's tall figure appeared on the threshold, wrapped in his dark cloak again.

“I'm sorry that you're not in the state to enjoy our wonderful Lornian hospitality, Captain Summer,” Tarant greeted him, but his irony was lost on Mitchell, and he just glared at the older man, stalking over to the bars to grip them with both hands again. “That is because your vaunted hospitality is lacking essential things like proper food, water and some comfort. There's a lot for you to improve here, and I would happily offer you my advice and help in this matter if I wasn't in a bit of a hurry to meet one of my trading partners on _Sontorra Prime._ ”

Tarant's thin lips twitched into a brief smile. “I'm pleased to see that you haven't lost your humor, Captain Summer. You'll definitely need it on your trip to _Kynthia Prime._ ” The Lornian regarded him for a moment, and Mitchell gripped the bars tighter and narrowed his eyes. “I don't remember that I agreed to your proposal, Prime Minister.”

“You haven't – so far. But you will.” Tarant sounded sure of that. “You're usually a clever man as far as I can see, Captain Summer, and it won't surprise you that I've done some investigation to get the information about you I need. I know why you're in such a hurry - and why you were so eager to get your hands on our spirit without going the official way and trying to get a license as one of the few merchants who are actually allowed to sell our spirit, Captain. Tigor Makasz is not known for his patience, and it would be such a pity if you lost your beloved ship, wouldn't it? He'd never be able to appreciate and cherish the _Falcon_ as much as you're doing, so I'm positive that we'll come to an agreement that will serve both of us perfectly. You'll be able to keep your precious _Falcon_ , and I'll be sure that Prince Kylian will reach his destination unharmed and won't need to worry about his safety.”

Mitchell resisted the urge to rock the bars in serious frustration only with effort. “The second part might be true if I agreed to your proposal, Prime Minister, but I fail to see how I can keep my ship if I have to bring Prince Kylian to _Kynthia Prime._ ”

Lynus Tarant raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise, and Mitchell wanted to smack the far too smug grin from his face. “Oh, did I forget to mention that you're allowed to keep the five boxes with our precious spirit and make a stop on _Sontorra Prime_ before you'll have to see to your other precious 'cargo' being delivered punctually and safely? I'm in a gracious mood today, so I'll even allow you to keep the profit that will surely remain when you've taken your ship out of pledge.”

Mitchell just stared at the Lornian silently, thinking that his ears must have played tricks on him. Tarant sighed, and the look on his face reminded Mitchell on the way one of his teachers had looked at him when he'd 'forgotten' to do his homework for the umpteenth time. “You're really stubborn, Captain Summer, aren't you? I would like to advise you and not to try my patience any further. Do we have a deal, or do you prefer working in the mines for the next three years?”

“You've said something about two years,” Mitchell murmured, wishing his mind would stop spinning and hurting so much.

“That was five hours ago – before you turned out to be such a tough nut to crack.”

Mitchell pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes again. “You'll let me keep the boxes and fix my deal on _Sontorra Prime_ before I'll have to fly the prince to _Kynthia Prime,_ Prime Minister?” he made sure, and Tarant nodded his head. “It's in my own best interest that Tigor Makasz won't try to take the _Falcon_ away from you, Captain. That would draw too much attention we cannot risk to arouse. Our spirit is precious, but the safety of the royal heir is far more precious and important. As long as you'll reach _Kynthia Prime_ before our flagship will arrive there – together with Prince Kylian well and healthy on board your ship of course – you can do as it pleases you.”

“That should be possible. I must admit that I didn't pay much attention to the news about this royal wedding, so you'll have to tell me the exact date,” Mitchell admitted, thinking that he should pay better attention to galactic politics in the future perhaps, and Tarant's eyes lit up with satisfaction. “Words have not been spread about the royal wedding yet, so your ignorance is excused here, Captain Summer. The official explanation for the departure of our flagship is that King Dracos has finally agreed to negotiations for a peace treaty or at least truce - which have of course already taken place in a secret hiding place weeks ago. The wedding is scheduled the 25th day of the next month. Galactic time. _Lornia One_ and _Kynthia Prime_ have a slightly different time measurement as you certainly know.”

Mitchell swallowed, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, I know. It's the same on _Aronia Prime._ The 25th next month, I see. That happens to be my birthday,” he said, and Lynus Tarant tilted his head curiously. “Really? What a fortunate coincidence, indeed, Captain,” he remarked, actually not the least sounding surprised about this information, and Mitchell couldn't help but suspect that the tall minister had already known that. “That might be a good thing as you won't forget the date of the wedding then,” he stated as a matter of fact, and Mitchell felt a sudden cold shiver run down on his spine. He suppressed it, but his smile turned out to be more a grimace than a real smile.

“My crew needs to know about the true identity of our... passenger. I can't keep that a secret from them, and I wouldn't want that either as I trust them more than I trust myself at times,” he demanded, and Lynus Tarant nodded his head in agreement. “I didn't expect you to lie to them about Prince Kylian's identity, Captain. Although I was surprised that they didn't seem to know the content of the boxes when my agents interviewed them.”

“Your 'agents' dragged me from my ship before I could tell them about the content of the boxes.” Mitchell scowled at the Lornian, rubbing his head with a heartfelt sigh when he finally gave in to the inevitable. “Alright, we have a deal, Prime Minister,” he admitted defeat, gesturing to the heavy lock that separated him from his freedom. “Now would be a good time to let me out of this prison cell and go back to my crew to inform them about the change of plans, don't you think so?”

*~*~*

“Mitchell, where the hell have you been?!” his navigator hissed at him one hour later when he finally returned to his ship. Lyra Berger was like a sister to him, and Mitchell drew comfort out of her familiar sight and felt his shoulders release some of the unbearable tension he'd been feeling instantly. Lyra was small and slim, but she was faster and stronger than most men Mitchell knew, skilled and well-trained in close combat and one of the best navigators in the galaxy. Her pale skin matched surprisingly well with her dark, almost black eyes, and she liked to draw attention where she went by dying her page-boy haircut in a gaudy azure-blue color that contrasted with her tightly fitting silvery bodysuit and the high-heeled blue boots she wore to appear taller. A broad anthracite-colored belt around her slim waist completed her looks, and Mitchell had never been happier to see her, despite her hissing and the furiously narrowed eyes that warned him that she was truly angry with him this time.

“Lyra, I'm glad to see you again too,” he greeted her with his most charming smile, but she pushed him away when he tried to embrace her. “That won't save you, Mitchell, not this time!” she growled. “We weren't allowed to leave the ship, and no one would tell us where they'd brought you. What did you do again? It has something to do with the boxes in our cargo hold that weren't there yesterday, right?” Lyra glared up at him, and Mitchell shrank under her hard stare. “I'll tell you everything you'll need to know, Lyra-darling,” he tried, but she only rolled her eyes at him.

“Don't darling me, Mitchell,” she hissed, and he grimaced because she only called him Mitchell instead of Mitch when she was truly pissed off with him. At least she didn't look as if she wanted to strangle him with her bare hands any longer, which was definitely an improvement compared to a few minutes earlier.

“I'm really sorry that you had to worry about me so much, Lyra,” he apologized sincerely, pulling a snort from her. “Don't flatter yourself, Mitchell Summer. As if I'd ever waste a thought on your well-being after all those times you did your best to get into trouble!” But she turned her head to hide her face from him when she said that, and he could see how the six symmetrical crinkles on the back of her nose moved like they always did when she was upset and deeply worried about him. Mitchell had always found her Talarian crinkles charming, but he'd never told her that because he knew that she hated that visible evidence of her origin.

Lyra's Talarian father had left his family when she'd been a young girl, seeking fame and money and leaving it up to her to see to her ill mother. Lyra had had to leave school and work far too hard for the small girl she'd been to earn money for the treatment for her mother, and there had been a deep understanding between her and Mitchell right from the start when they had first met shortly after her mother's death because of the experiences both of them had made. They'd met in the tavern where Lyra had worked, and she'd saved his ass when he'd gotten into trouble with two gamblers during a space-poker game, her skills in close combat impressing the hell out of him. Mitchell had offered her the post as his navigator after that fight without even knowing whether or not she could fly a ship, and he'd never regretted his spontaneous offer. Lyra was his best friend, his adviser and the only one who was able to keep him out of trouble and get the best out of him, and she being angry with him was much worse than the hours he'd spent in the prison cell. Mitchell ducked his head and looked at her with pleading eyes.

“I'll tell you everything, but please let me check the boxes at first,” he asked her to buy himself some time, turning his head when Oleg's voice sounded from the right side. “I was so free to check them when the friendly customs officer informed us about your imminent return. Lornian booze, really, Mitchell? And five large boxes of that schnapps? That was more than foolhardy even for you, Caps. No wonder they wanted to throw us into the mines. What did you promise them to make them change their minds about the mines, by the way?”

Oleg Burkow was the cook and handyman on board the _Falcon,_ seeing to all the tasks Mitchell, Lyra and Darian couldn't see when they were busied with operating the small cargo ship. Oleg kept track of the goods and their expenses, and he was a magician when it came to preparing edible and tasty meals with having nothing more at hand other than a few supplies like old bread, beef jerky and some tins. His red hair was ruffled as usual, and he looked more curious than worried, grinning at Mitchell while Lyra decided to glare more daggers at him when she realized what her captain had tried to smuggle.

“The bottles are still there and all intact?” Mitchell inquired, choosing to ignore his furious navigator for the time being. Oleg nodded. “All of them. I'm still wondering why they didn't take them and didn't imprison us like they did with you.”

Mitchell sighed, throwing Lyra a quick sidelong glance. “Please call Darian to the bridge, Lyra. I'll tell you when he's there to listen to me as well as we're in a hurry and don't have much time left. We'll leave for _Sontorra Prime_ soon, we're just waiting for a passenger...”

“A passenger?! Since when are we taking passengers on board the _Falcon,_ Caps? I remember quite well how you used to say that they're not worthy the trouble they're causing.” Oleg stated with a frown, and Mitchell wished for a quiet hiding place where he could rest his hurting head. “Come with me to the bridge and wait until Darian has managed to drag himself away from his beloved engine room. I really don't want to tell this story twice,” he almost begged, and Lyra snorted. “I'll make you tell it as often as I need to hear it to believe the trouble you've gotten all of us into – and this not for the first time as I want to point out, Mitchell,” she threatened, but her face softened when she noticed his pain. “Oleg, please go and fetch Mitch something to drink, it will ease his headache and make him capable of thinking straight again. Our captain looks a little dehydrated after his stay in Lornian custody. I'll go getting Darian in the meantime. I really want to know what this is all about.”

“Thank you, Lyra-darling,” Mitchell thanked her, daring to call her by her nickname again, and to his utter relief she didn't object to it and even offered him a brief smile in return before she stalked over to the transporter that would bring her to the lower deck where the machine rooms and the cargo hold were located. Mitchell watched her disappear in the transporter with tired eyes, knowing how lucky he was to always have her by his side, no matter how much he managed to screw things up.

*~*~*

Half an hour later, Mitchell was sitting on the bridge in the captain's chair and sipping from the water Oleg had mixed for him with some fresh juice and electrolytes. He would have preferred some hot and strong soka that would help him against his headache and his tiredness much better, but one look at Lyra's pinched mouth had shut him up effectively and made Oleg shrug his shoulders in a helpless and resigned gesture.

“You'll get your soka later, Mitchell,” his navigator and best friend had told him strictly, “water first.”

Now he was retelling the events that had led to his imprisonment from the moment he'd visited Varo's shop up to the moment when the customs officers had suddenly appeared in the cargo hold of the _Falcon_ a few minutes after he'd put the last box in the container. He hesitated to tell his crew about the bracelets Varo had given him in exchange for the Tylion, not sure why he still wanted to keep them a secret from his crew – from the three people he trusted more than he trusted himself most of the time. 'I'll tell them later,' he promised silently to himself, clearing his throat when he came to his deal with Prime Minister Lynus Tarant.

“The Lornian Prime Minister came to interrogate you personally?!” His machinist Darian Shane interrupted him with an incredulous expression on his angular features. Darian was an Aronian by origin, opposite to Mitchell - whose parents had settled there when he'd been two or three years old. Darian possessed the smooth shimmering light-brown skin each Aronian had and seemingly bottomless eyes with the rich brown color of strong soka. Not one single hair adorned his round head, and he was happiest with his machines and his engines as his sole company. Mitchell still didn't know all of the manipulations of the engines Darian had installed on the machines over the past years – or how they actually worked – and he'd stopped asking some time ago because Darian wouldn't tell him anyway.

The quiet Aronian was a magician when it came to increasing the efficiency of Mitchell's beloved _Falcon_ like Oleg did true miracles with food, and the only thing important to him was that the manipulations only worked when he was the one sitting on the captain's seat and using the mind-interface Darian had brought one day. The tall and broad machinist had refused to tell Mitchell where he'd gotten it, and it worked so well that the _Falcon_ reacted to Mitchell's thoughts as if he was actually a real part of the small ship. He'd needed some time to get used to this kind of mental connection with the lifeless machine his ship actually was - no matter how much he loved the _Falcon_ , but she was still just a machine and not a living being - and Darian had needed weeks until he'd established a stable link between Mitchell and the ship computer. There was another interface Lyra could use when she had to set up a new course, but she only used it when they reached an unknown sector far from their usual trading route – or when they had to get away from somewhere really fast because they had run into a battle between the Dorrandian rebels and the Kynthian ships by accident for example.

The mind-interface was the reason why Mitchell had told Prime Minister Tarant that he couldn't get the Falcon without him as her captain, and the mere thought of anybody else sitting in his chair made him feel physically sick.

Mitchell's attention was drawn back to Darian when the machinist cleared his throat and said “Mitchell?” in a questioning voice, and he took another sip from his water and swallowed it down. “Yes, he did. Imagine my surprise when I realized who was hiding under the cloak.”

“Their spirit must be even more precious and sacred to them than we already thought it to be. Did you really think that we could get away with trying to smuggle five pretty large boxes of their holy booze without anyone noticing their missing, Caps?” Darian shook his head, but he didn't sound angry. He was the one who knew Mitchell the longest time, and he had saved Mitchell's ass during their time at school more often than he could count.

Mitchell dropped his gaze down on the glass he held in both hands, his forearms resting on his thighs. “Yes, I know that I was more than stupid, Shane,” he sighed, “but it seemed to be the only way not to lose the _Falcon._ ” He hated how whiny he sounded, but the _Falcon_ was his home, and he couldn't bear losing her after everything he'd already lost at a rather young age. Mitchell still missed his parents deeply, and he wouldn't lose his crew and his ship, no matter what he had to do to keep them. Even accepting spoiled and highly sensitive princes as passengers and transporting them through half of the damn galaxy.

“So what did he want from you? He could have left the interrogation up to his agents if it had just been about the booze and your smuggling, right? There was no mistaking about you being guilty, I mean, so the case was pretty clear.” Oleg wanted to know, leaning forward to regard his captain more closely.

Mitchell scowled at his friend, although he knew that Oleg was right with what he'd said. “He offered me a deal after informing me that the punishment for smuggling their booze is working in the mines on _Lornia Four_ for at least two years for all of us,” he explained, and Oleg whistled through his teeth, while Lyra let out an angry hiss at his admission. She was leaning against her console, sipping from the strong soka she'd denied him. “I don't think that I'm eager to learn more about that deal, Mitchell,” she snapped, “I have the strong suspicion that I won't like it. Has the mysterious passenger which will soon arrive here something to do with this deal?”

“A passenger?” Darian asked before Mitchell could answer Lyra's question, drawing his dark brows together. “We're not prepared for a passenger. Where are they going to stay anyway? In the small storage room behind the kitchen?!”

That was a problem Mitchell had mused about since he'd agreed to a deal that was actually more an extortion than a real deal as the consequences if he refused were not acceptable at all. “He will stay in my quarters during our flight to _Kynthia Prime,_ and I will share your quarters with you, Darian,” he said, doing his best to give his voice a cheerful and untroubled one.

“'He'? So you already know their identity?” Lyra gazed at him with narrowed eyes while Darian looked not all too happy at the prospect of having to share his quarters with his captain. They were friends for half of Mitchell's life and would risk their lives for each other unquestioningly, but Darian needed his privacy and quiet as the introvert person he was, opposite to Mitchell who was usually very talkative and liked to chatter about everything and nothing. They would get on each other's nerves quickly, but the Falcon was too small and there was no other option left for them.

Mitchell swallowed and lifted his chin up in the fruitless attempt to radiate confidence and determination. “Yes, I do. Our passenger is Prince Kylian of Tyrona, the royal heir,” he mumbled, just to find three pairs of eyes staring at him in shocked disbelief.

*~*~*

“For how much longer do you want to keep me trapped in my rooms, Lynus?” Kylian turned his head away from the arched window to glance at the man he'd always considered to be his friend. Lynus Tarant had always been more of a father to him than his real father King Paros, and Kylian felt hurt and confused about Lynus' sudden change in behavior towards him since the council – with Lynus as their first and most important minister – had decided that handing Lornia's prince and heir over to the tyrant who was sitting on _Kynthia's_ throne now was the only way to end the terrible war that held the whole galaxy in its merciless iron grip for almost three decades.

He couldn't keep the hurt about Lynus' betrayal out of his voice, and Kylian actually didn't want to do that either, the brief flicker of acid contentment filling him with warmth when he noticed how his former fatherly friend flinched at his bitter question. The experienced politician had his features back under control before his bad conscience could show on his face though, and he bowed his head in a gesture of both respect and regret.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, your highness,” the older Lornian said evenly, “but it's just for your own safety that you're confined to your rooms.”

“Yes, sure. You certainly want to believe that, don't you?” Kylian averted his eyes to observe the beautiful gardens he wasn't allowed to set his foot in for more than a week now. He longed so badly to let the warm summer breeze caress his numb face, to let the fragrant air fill his starved lungs and feel the soft grass under his bare feet. Instead he had to stand before the locked window made of bulletproof glass, yearning for the freedom even the simplest man or woman of their people had, but which he would never have as the prince of the Tyrona family and the heir of the Lornian throne.

“You know that there are a lot of people who want to get their hands on you to use you to their own advantage and benefits, or – even worse – to see you dead to make sure that the war won't come to an end.”

“So my life is the price for the peace and freedom of this galaxy.” Kylian mused, and he could feel Lynus' eyes burning a hole into his back.

“Only if we allow them to catch you before the day of your marriage, your highness. But you do not need to worry about this possibility any longer as I've managed to arrange your safe and secret passage to _Kynthia Prime._ ”  
“You really think that I'll be safe in the hands of this slaughterer?” Kylian's voice was dripping with sarcasm. “King Dracos will get rid of me before the ink on the marriage contract has even dried fully.”

“It won't come to that, your highness. Besides, you shouldn't judge your... future husband because of some rumors you heard about him. I'm sure that he will cherish and protect you, my prince.” Lynus' voice had a strange undertone when he said that, and he looked at Kylian intently, just as if he knew something important about Kylian's fiancé that he couldn't tell him.

“Rumors?” Kylian snorted, pretty sure that whatever it was that his former fatherly friend was hiding from him wouldn't change his mind about the marriage he'd been forced to agree to. “That's one way to put it. It's a fact that he slaughtered each member of the Mendala family – even the baby prince.”

“That was almost twenty-eight years ago. People can change, your highness.”

“Not even a time-span of more than hundred years could change that he's a murderer. He's older now – he could actually be my father – but he's still a murderer. The blood of people you'd once called your friends is clinging to his hands, Lynus. Blood can never be washed away with soap and water.”

The older Lornian sighed. “I haven't forgotten what happened, your highness. But I cannot change the past, and there's no other way to end this war than a marriage between you and the Kynthian king.”

“So you really want to sacrifice me, Lynus. You have always been the father I'd needed and which my real father could never be for me, but even you are willing to hand me to our worst enemy on a silver platter.” Kylian accused him, and the Prime Minister ducked his head between his shoulders and looked at least ten years older all of a sudden. “Please don't make this harder for all of us than it already is, your highness. One day you will understand that everything I ever did was always in your own best interest, Prince Kylian.”

“You'll have to wait for a very long time for that to happen, Prime Minister,” Kylian retorted, folding his arms before his chest and schooling his features into a mask of grim resignation. “I assume you have come to make sure that I won't try to escape on my way to our royal flagship.”

“I could ask you to give me your word that you won't try to escape. I know that your honor means something to you and that you've never broken a promise you've given so far, your highness. But that's not the reason for my visit, and you won't travel with the royal flagship. It would be too dangerous, the Dorrandian rebels are just waiting for the next best opportunity to kidnap you.”

“It wouldn't be an act of kidnapping,” Kylian stated, lifting his chin up defiantly. “I would go with them willingly and freely.”

A brief smile ghosted over Tarant's face. “Yes, I'm aware of that, believe me, my prince. That's one of the reasons why I decided that you will travel incognito and with a small ship that won't arouse any attention. I've already instructed the captain of this special ship, and he was very cooperative and agreed quickly to the deal I offered him.”

“Hmm, I see. And what did you offer him in return? I shall hope that it was a sum worthy a prince,” Kylian said with bitter mockery coloring his voice. He felt hurt, confused and scared because he was losing control over his freedom and his life, and the betrayal of the man he'd trusted more than he'd trusted his own father stung so much that he could hardly breathe.

“Captain Summer will be paid for your safe passage and delivery generously, don't worry about that. He's eager to welcome you on board his cargo ship _Falcon_ , and I'm sure that you will get along with each other pretty well rather quickly.”

Kylian stared at Tarant for a moment, uncertain whether or not he'd heard right. “A cargo ship? Are you kidding me, Prime Minister?” he asked incredulously, and the older Lornian entangled his fingers in front of his abdomen and pursed his lips. “No, I am most certainly not joking about such a serious matter, your highness. A cargo ship, indeed. A small but special one – with a special crew. The _Falcon_ is small enough to slip the attention of the Dorrandian rebels and the war ships of any other species as well. Knowing you as well as I do I believe that you'll feel much more comfortable on board Captain Summer's ship than you'd feel on board the royal flagship with servants and guards following your every step.” Tarant's lips twitched in amusement, and Kylian tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

“What's so funny, Prime Minister?” he demanded to know, and Tarant's eyes crinkled. “Oh, it's just that Captain Summer expects you to be a spoiled and whiny prince with a highly sensitive nature. He will be surprised when he realizes his mistake and that you're definitely not the usual kind of prince, I guess.”

Kylian bared his teeth to an ironical grin. “Too bad that you won't be there to enjoy his reaction when he'll eventually realize the truth, isn't it?” he said, and Tarant drew his brows together in a gesture of mistrust. “What are you now scheming again, your highness?” he inquired, and Kylian's smirk deepened. “Oh, nothing, nothing at all, Lynus. I'll just be the spoiled and highly sensitive princeling he thinks that I am for the start. We don't want to disappoint him and prove him to be wrong in what he's believing about princes and royal heirs, do we? He has to earn the money he's getting for me after all... Besides, it might be fun to play the role of the spoiled and arrogant prince for a while, and I do believe that I deserve to have some last fun before my wedding. So please don't worry, Prime Minister, there'll be no scheming, just proving to Captain Summer that his prejudices about princes are true,” he answered lightheartedly, leaving it up to Tarant whether this was meant to be a promise or rather a threat.


	3. A remarkable first encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell and Prince Kylian of Tyrona are meeting each other for the first time, and Mitchell finds his worst prejudices about spoiled princes to be proved right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear aladyinbooks,  
> I'm so happy that you like your story so far, and I hope that you will continue to enjoy it! I'm a little bit unsure about this chapter, but decided to post it anyway, I hope that it's turned out to be better than it feels like. <33

Mitchell had agreed with the Prime Minister that it was better to wait until it was dark outside for the royal heir to come on board his ship in order to avoid drawing any more unwanted attention to the _Falcon_ than the customs officers had already aroused when they'd come to escort him to their head quarters along the spaceport where everyone had seen them.

Scara, one of the other space traders whose ship was sitting on the landing spot right next to the _Falcon_ , had come over about an hour ago, asking nosy questions about Mitchell's long absence and trying to take a look inside the cargo hold to see what Mitchell had done to get into trouble this time. Scara insisted that they were friends and that all space traders had to look after one another, but Mitchell didn't trust the Murenian, and he knew that Scara would sell his own grandmother if it would get him a tidy sum of money or another kind of worthy profit.

Mitchell had put a good face on the matter and invited Scara for a drink – tasty but rather cheap Aronian wine, not the sacred Lornian booze of course – distracting him with his favorite board game from his curiosity and telling him something about a confusion with another ship that had occupied the same landing spot the previous day like the _Falcon_ was doing now until she would leave _Lornia One_ tonight again.

Scara had left Mitchell to his own devices with obvious reluctance and an annoyed expression when he'd finally realized that he wouldn't get the information he'd hoped to get so he could use it against Mitchell one day, and Mitchell had suppressed a gleeful chuckle when Lyra had taken pity on him and come to his help at last, showing the Murenian space trader out with a blindingly sugary smile on her deep-red lips but a steel-hard look in her dark eyes.

“Thank you, Lyra-darling,” Mitchell said with a sigh of utmost relief and gratitude, but Lyra only snorted.

“Save your questionable charms for the prince, you'll probably need all of them for him, Mitchell,” she told him, and Mitchell ducked his head and mumbled something unintelligible. She gave him a long look from under her thick long lashes, dyed in the same blue color as her hair. “You'll better see to bringing your quarters in order before our... passenger will arrive, and no, don't even think of making puppy eyes at me and asking me to do that for you. I'm your navigator, not your handmaiden! It's already bad enough that we'll have to deal with his royal highness for weeks and play babysitter for him! So go and make sure that he will at least have tidy quarters to stay in, Mitchell!”

“Yes, of course, Lyra.” Mitchell hurried to nod his head with a subdued smile and made his way to his quarters with his tail between his legs, musing about the best way to make it up with her again. Lyra being angry at him was nothing he could stand for long, and Mitchell was still thinking about that problem when the rather small room that served him as a living and a bedroom at once was already blinking and sparkling.

There were still two or three hours left until it would be dark enough and the prince's arrival was to be expected, and Mitchell soon found himself pacing up and down for the umpteenth time on that exhausting day, this time on the bridge of his ship. Lyra's glaring convinced him quickly that upsetting her even more was truly a bad idea, and he wandered down to the lower deck to get on Oleg's nerves instead.

“Don't you have anything useful to do, Caps? You do remember what happened the last time you offered to make dinner for us, don't you?” His cook sighed with a roll of his eyes when Mitchell announced that he wanted to help him prepare their dinner, and Mitchell felt heat crawling into his face and turned away with a pout to bother Darian in the machine room for the next hour.

“The engines are working just fine, thank you very much. No, I don't need you to check them, Mitch! You would only mess with my babies as clumsy as you are!” Darian's voice sounded muffled because his head was stuck in the small gap between the hyper drive and the engine for the sub-light flight while he was working on the latter with a huge screw driver.

“I'm not clumsy!” Mitchell objected with a pout, “the _Falcon_ is my ship, and I'm her captain!”

“Yes, you are Summer. You're actually one of the best pilots of the galaxy, and she's your ship without a doubt. But her engines are _my_ babies, and no one messes with my babies, not even the captain of this ship! I've made up my mind, by the way. You can have my quarters, I'll prefer sleeping here in the machine room as long as our passenger is on board.” Darian untangled himself from the cables that were hanging in the small space between the two drives and sat back on his heels to peer up at his captain and childhood friend.

“But why would you do that?” Mitchell asked with a frown, feeling a little bit hurt because his crew apparently didn't need him as much as he'd thought that they would. “I promise to be quiet and not bother you with my snoring.”

“Your snoring is not what scares me,” Darian remarked dryly, “but you couldn't even keep your mouth shut if someone pointed with a gun at your head. You're still thinking that you can talk yourself out of every situation, and it mostly works as I have to admit, but the prospect of your constant need to chat and talk about everything and nothing is not really appealing to me.” The Aronian chuckled when he saw the look on Mitchell's face.

“I'm just kidding, Caps. I just want to be prepared in case that our... _passenger_ decides that he wants to be too late for his own wedding. The _Falcon_ is a small ship, but we're only four people, and I don't want to wake up one morning stuck in the middle of nowhere because someone has manipulated or damaged our hyper drive or the navigation computer.”

“You're far too leery, Darian. Kylian of Tyrona is a spoiled prince, I don't think that he is even capable of recognizing what a hyper drive is or how a navigation computer looks like.”

“If you say so, Mitch,” Darian shrugged. “Better be safe than sorry, though. My bed isn't big enough for both of us anyway.”

Mitchell felt himself blushing furiously, and he realized that he had indeed not thought of that before Darian had mentioned it. There was only one bed in Darian's quarters, a rather small one, and a chair that was definitely not made to sleep in it for an entire night, and even though they were close friends and like family, but the prospect of having to share a small bed with Darian made him feel uncomfortable. He'd had a few intimate encounters with both male and female partners over the past years, but never anything really serious, and never with someone he really cared about as a close friend. Nor had he ever thought of Darian this way, and he could see in the other man's eyes that his childhood friend felt the same way about this.

“Are you really sure? We'll have to take turns with the watch anyway,” he said, but Darian nodded his head. “I am sure, Caps. I'd rather stay near my babies as long as his royal highness is enjoying our hospitality and Oleg's unique creations, my gut feelings are telling me that there is trouble ahead waiting for us.”

Mitchell shared his friend's feelings on this matter, but he was the captain and therefore had to radiate confidence and optimism that everything would go smoothly, so he just smiled the Aronian.

“Kylian of Tyrona is just a spoiled prince. He'll be whining about the lack of comfort and the food, but that'll be all we'll have to endure, some whining and complaining, nothing more serious, Darian,” he assured his doubtful looking friend, not knowing how quickly he would come to regret his words just a few days later.

*~*~*

They came when darkness had fallen over the landing fields of _Lornia One's_ biggest spaceport, two figures cloaked in black coats with large hoods. The taller one, probably Tarant, had his hand on the cloaked back of the other figure to make sure that his companion wouldn't try to steal themselves away, and they appeared before the hatchway like two ghosts, silently and seemingly out of nowhere. Mitchell had watched the area before the closed hatch on the screen for more than half an hour with greatest care and attention, and just one second ago the short ramp had been abandoned. When Mitchell's eyes focused on the screen again after a quick blink, the two figures were standing there silently, and the young captain let out a startled hiss.

“Tarant, you bloody creeper!” he cursed under his breath as he jumped to his feet and felt for his weapon. “I'm going to welcome our guests, keep an eye on the screen, Lyra-darling.” Lyra nodded without turning her head. “You bet I'll do that, Mitch,” she said, and Mitchell headed towards the main hatch with his fingers tightening around the small pistol and a strange feeling sitting in his stomach. A couple of hours ago, when he'd been trapped in the Lornian prison cell, Tarant's proposal had looked like a good deal to him, but now he wasn't sure of that any longer, and his fingers were trembling when he pressed his palm against the sensor panel that would open the hatch.

With his weapon pointing at the two newcomers he stepped aside to let them in and close the hatch again, but he was blocking the corridor that led to the bridge, just in case that the two hooded figures weren't the ones they were supposed to be. The smaller one made a squeaky sound when they found the barrel of a weapon directed at themselves, and Mitchell felt a pang of grim satisfaction shoot through him and bared his teeth to a dangerous grin.

“Remove your cloaks so I can see who you are,” he ordered, glad and amazed at the same time how calm and confident his voice sounded. “But slowly and in a way that I can see your hands.”

“How can this creature dare talking to me like that, Prime Minister? Didn't you tell him who I am? He shouldn't even be allowed to kneel before me and kiss my feet! And he has a weapon! I shall have him thrown into the darkest prison we possess cell for that!!” the smaller person exclaimed, serious indignation coloring his voice and pitching it up to the next higher and pretty much distorted octave. The young man's voice would probably have been a warm and smooth, wonderful sound under different circumstances, Mitchell thought briefly, but like this it merely served to prove all of his prejudices right that Kylian of Tyrona was just a spoiled and arrogant prince, and that their trip to _Kynthia Prime_ would cost him all of his patience and good will. The taller figure moved closer to the prince in the wish to protect him, but Mitchell lifted his weapon warningly.

“ _He_ dares talking to you like that because he's the captain of the ship that will bring you to your fiancé – if you are indeed the one you claim to be, that is." he growled at the prince before Tarant could speak up, already pissed off after just a few minutes in Prince Kylian's presence, and determined to show him who was the boss here. "And as I am the captain, I am the one being in charge here and telling you what you can do and what you can't do. Right now I'm telling you to take your cloak of slowly and carefully so I can see your hands and your face, understood?” Mitchell had a hard time not to flinch at his own boldness, but he straightened his shoulders to get his point across and make clear right from the start that he was not going to let the reins out of his hands. His gaze darted back and forth between the two cloaked Lornians, and he could feel Tarant's eyes on his face from under the large hood. He held it with a defiantly raised chin, even though he couldn't see the other one's features properly, and Tarant nodded his head after one or two heartbeats ever so slightly and lifted both hands up to pull the hood from his head.

“Please do as Captain Summer asked you to do, your highness. We're guests on board his ship, and he's right to be cautious and not trust any stranger showing up before the hatch without checking their identity and intentions.”

“But...!” the prince objected, and a bad headache started to throb behind Mitchell's temples at the unpleasant sound of the young man's high-pitched voice.

“Let me see your face. Now!” he demanded, feeling himself running out of patience quickly. What had he done to deserve this? Several weeks with a spoiled kid on board his ship and without any way out of this or any chance to avoid Prince Kylian and his whiny complaints, he wouldn't survive this without going insane, Mitchell was sure about that.

The smaller figure grumbled something, but finally a pale hand with long and elegant fingers appeared from under the dark cape to slowly remove the hood from his face, and Mitchell gasped out in surprise before he could stop himself. Prince Kylian of Tyrona had the most handsome male features he'd ever looked at, and all Mitchell could do was gape at him with his mouth hanging open, suddenly totally enthralled by a pair of truly beautiful hazel-green eyes staring back at him reproachfully.

*~*~*

“These are supposed to be my quarters?! This stinking hole?” Kylian asked incredulously, his bottom lip trembling as he looked around. Mitchell suppressed an annoyed sigh. _'He's still a royal highness, I need to be patient. His boudoir is probably bigger than our bridge, let alone my cabin.'_

Being patient was easier said than done though, and not even Prince Kylian's stunning looks made his squeaky voice any less harder to bear. Mitchell had never felt as torn about any other person he'd ever met as he felt about the Lornian royal heir, and his mind was already spinning from all those mixed feelings that were coursing through him since the prince had come on board his ship.

Kylian of Tyrona was of an astonishing beauty that made Mitchell's fingers itch with the urge to touch him and find out whether or not his skin was as smooth and soft as it looked like, shimmering like honey with a few cute freckles on his perfectly shaped nose. Golden-brown brows arched over those bottomless hazel-green orbs like the elegant wings of the Aronian hawks Mitchell's beloved ship was named after, and full pink lips drew Mitchell's gaze to the prince's mouth against his will. A shock of thick dark-blond hair crowned Kylian's head, curling not too much and not too little, a couple of soft strands falling into his forehead and arousing the overwhelming urge in Mitchell to stroke them out of his face. The heir of the Lornian throne was of the same height as Mitchell, of slender shape but with muscles in all the right places as far as the simple tunic over a shirt with long sleeves and loosely fitting trousers allowed the watcher to take notice of Prince Kylian's figure.

That was most likely Tarant's doing, the minister had surely given orders to the royal servants that the prince didn't gain too much weight, and he must have set up an exercising schedule for his royal charge to preserve the attractiveness of the most valuable and precious good _Lornia One_ had to offer in exchange for peace. It was obvious that the spoiled son of King Paros didn't feel comfortable in the clothes the Prime Minister had made him wear for the sake of his temporary new identity and disguise, he was constantly rubbing over the long sleeves of his shirt as though the material would scratch his skin, and his expression was the expression of someone who had smelled something ugly and wanted to throw up at any second.

Which brought Mitchell to the one thing about the beautiful prince that confused him the most. Kylian of Tyrona was beautiful and attractive, but he was also definitely a pain in the ass and driving Mitchell crazy and to his very limits within an instant. Mitchell wanted to shout at him and tell him to shut the fuck up whenever Kylian opened his mouth for another whiny complaint, but at the same time he wanted to lean in and inhale his natural scent, a tempting and delicious fragrance Mitchell felt already addicted to. He'd smelled it when the prince had taken his coat off, the faintest hint penetrating Mitchell's nose and making his skin tingle. It irritated Mitchell to no end that he was reacting to Prince Kylian's scent like that, and it made him feel even angrier than he already was.

“This 'stinking hole' as you've put it is all I can offer you. It has always been perfectly suitable for me as the captain of the _Falcon,_ and it will be suitable for your highness as well. If you prefer to stay in our storage room on the lower deck instead though, I'm positive that this can be arranged easily, my prince,” Mitchell now said, feeling hurt about Prince Kylian's pejorative judgment, and childish enough to provoke him with the prospect of being forced to sleep in a small storage room if he dared to utter any other complaint about his temporary housing.

A strange emotion was flickering over the handsome features of the royal heir, but it was gone before Mitchell could detect it. The Prime Minister cleared his throat to get the attention of the two young men who were staring at each other with stubborn expressions on their faces. He was standing behind them on the threshold to Mitchell's cabin – which was Prince Kylian's cabin now – an apologetic smile plastered all over his face.

“Your quarters will be perfectly fine for his highness, Captain Summer. It is truly generous of you that you're willing to offer them to Prince Kylian for the duration of your flight to _Kynthia Prime._ Isn't that so, your highness? We are truly grateful that Captain Summer is so concerned about your comfort and willing to stay somewhere else for as long as you're his most welcome guest.”

Prince Kylian pursed his lips to a childish pout, and he didn't look the least grateful or as though he shared the minister's opinion in any way. Mitchell could barely contain the scornful laughter inside that wanted to escape his throat at Tarant's blatant lie, because the minister certainly knew quite well that his spoiled charge was not a 'most welcome guest' in any way, but someone Mitchell more or less just wished to go to hell.

Tarant offered him a pleased smile when he sought his gaze though, and Mitchell suspected that he was actually enjoying the situation pretty much and congratulating himself for having found a way to pay the impudent space trader Mitchell was in his eyes back for his attempt to steal their precious Lornian spirit. The prince shot an utterly hurt and reproachful look at the first minister of his father's council, and a pathetic sigh made its way to Mitchell's ears.

“I will have bruises all over my body after sleeping on that instrument of torture for weeks,” he stated, pointing at Mitchell's rather small but truly nice and comfortable bed. “Not to mention that I will surely wither away because of the muck you serve as 'proper' food here on board this... this ridiculous parody of a real spaceship!”

Mitchell bared his teeth to a wolfish grin. “Oh, I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience, I guess. You should have brought your plushy with you and your childhood cuddle blanket. It's a pity, but I've given mine away when I deemed myself to be too old for these things many years ago. Plus, I'd like to advise you strongly not to utter any statements like this one out loud when my cook Oleg can hear you, your highness; at least not if you want to get anything resembling edible meals for the length of our nice trip. He's truly a nice guy and a great cook, but he can be pretty resentful when somebody's questioning his cooking skills.”

Kylian's soft pink bottom lip started to tremble, his beautiful eyes growing big and filling with tears, and Mitchell wanted to roll his eyes and scream in frustration. He was about to open his mouth for another mocking remark, but he snapped it shut again when the older Lornian looked at him warningly.

“You'll be fine, my prince. Captain Summer and his crew will do their best to make your stay on board the _Falcon_ comfortable and something you'll surely remember with a smile on your face.”

“Nothing about this trip – or my forthcoming wedding – is anything I will ever wish to remember,” the Lornian prince objected stubbornly, and the miserable look of defeat and sorrow on his face aroused the strong wish in Mitchell to wrap his arm around his shoulders and assure him that everything would be alright, and as unwelcome and disturbing as his urge to console the young prince actually was, but it was suddenly overwhelming and hard for him to ignore, Kylian's enticing scent not helping to keep his distance from him either.

He stepped back and cleared his throat, frowning with irritation. “You should leave now, Prime Minister. Our departure is scheduled in an hour, and I'll have to go to the bridge and do the necessary checks before we can start. Any delay would only arouse some more suspicions after the unfortunate incident this morning when your agents arrested me.”

“They should have kept you in the cell,” Prince Kylian groused, his cheeks flushed red with anger about Mitchell's words and his obvious lack of a bad conscience that he'd tried to smuggle their sacred spirit, his misery and sorrow already forgotten again.

“And you should still be playing in the kindergarten,” Mitchell murmured to himself, angry with himself that he'd felt any sympathy with the arrogant aristocrat, but Tarant must have heard him nonetheless, his lips twitching into a brief smile. “I can see that you'll get along with each other pretty well,” he stated dryly, “I will leave you now.” The minister pulled a small bag from the depths of his black coat. “Here's the bag with your spare clothes, your highness. You won't need much here on the _Falcon_ , and Captain Summer will provide you with anything else you might need. I wish you a pleasant journey, my prince, we'll see each other again on _Kynthia Prime_ in a couple of weeks. Captain Summer, please take good care of our royal heir.” Tarant bowed his head before the prince and turned around then to take his leave, and Mitchell took the bag from him to drop it onto his bed – Prince Kylian's bed for the next weeks.

“You can unpack your stuff later, I want to keep an eye on you, your highness.” He beckoned the prince to follow him and escort Lynus Tarant back to the hatch, and Prince Kylian pulled a face but obeyed without objections this time. He looked a little lost when the hatch closed behind his fatherly friend and he was eventually alone with Mitchell for the first time, standing in the gloomy corridor of the small ship. Mitchell's heart clenched with another wave of sympathy, and he swallowed and tried a friendly smile.

“I can imagine that this is hard for you, my prince, but me and my crew will do our best to make your trip bearable for you. Please come to the bridge with me, I have to prepare everything for our departure.”

The handsome features of his new passenger twisted into another displeased pout. “But I wish to withdraw into my quarters, I'm really exhausted after all I've gone through today,” he objected, and Mitchell snorted. He didn't know what kind of straining hardships and unpleasantries the prince could possibly have gone through over the past few hours, but he was damn sure that Kylian of Tyrona hadn't spent them in a Lornian prison cell, interrogated and blackmailed by agents or ministers. He was wise enough though to keep his thoughts to himself and just shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he bowed his head in feigned regret.

“Yes, of course, and you'll be sneaking down from my ship at the next best opportunity, hoping that I won't notice your absence before it's too late and we're already in space. I'm sorry that I have to thwart your plans, your highness, but I cannot allow that to happen. Your first minister was very clear about his serious displeasure in case that you won't arrive on _Kynthia Prime_ right in time and in one piece, so no. You'll come with me, and I won't let you out of sight until we're far away enough from any planet. This way, if you please,” he said as he bent his head in a mocking bow, all smiles and graces, grinning at the prince with bared teeth and chuckling to himself when Kylian lifted his chin up with an indignant sound of annoyance.

This would be some interesting forthcoming weeks, that much was sure, and Mitchell would better get used to cross swords with his royal passenger for as long as they were stuck together, he thought, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do more: strangle the prince or rather jump out of the next airlock, because either of these two things were going to happen sooner rather than later, this was as sure as night always followed day.


End file.
